


Strength in Silence

by WalkingAcrossEgypt



Category: The Killing
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, F/M, Muteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingAcrossEgypt/pseuds/WalkingAcrossEgypt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen Holder moves to a small island for a fresh start and a maintenance job at the house of a woman who most people find quite odd due to the fact that she doesn't get out much and never speaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been floating around in my head for months, so I thought I would attempt to write my very first fic to sort it out in my mind. Completely non-canon, so I'm sorry if that's not what you're looking for. This is really just for my enjoyment, but if you like it too I'm glad! As I begin to decide where the hell this story is going I'll add more tags.
> 
> Mackinac Island is a real place, and I’ve spent a summer working there before, and I had to bike up Grand Hill every day, which is appropriately named - really builds the leg muscles. There are no motor vehicles on the island whatsoever, except for an ambulance. Other than that, it’s only bikes and horse-drawn carriages. West Bluff is a real neighborhood, although it’s not actually guarded by security. I just really wanted to incorporate the Will character. Some of the people who live there are actually ridiculously rich. If you’ve ever been to Mackinac (pronounced [MACK – in – aw], I know, it is spelled weird) you might remember Main Street and the Grand Hotel that sits on top of the hill.
> 
> I don't have anyone editing for me since this is my first time writing anything. Feel free to critique, or if it strikes your fancy, leave me a kudos. Thanks so much and I hope you like my story:)

The ferry ride from the mainland to the island took about twenty minutes, giving Stephen Holder time to wonder whether he was making the biggest mistake of his life. Had he been right to leave Seattle, move two thousand miles to an island with a population of less than five hundred people, and take a job as a maintenance man? When his sister Liz had finally answered his call and heard his plan, she had wanted to know what the hell he was thinking. Of course he would miss her, and his niece and nephew, but he needed a fresh start. Seattle wasn’t good for him anymore. Perhaps only going far away would help him distance himself from the person he used to be, and who he never wanted to be again.

He had taken the 6 a.m. ferry so that he could beat the traffic of tourists going to spend a day on the island, and also so he could begin his new job as soon as possible. The sun had just begun to paint the sky with vivid orange and violet, and the low light shining from behind the hills revealed the silhouette of his new home.

Once the boat docked, Stephen grabbed his one bag and disembarked along with the few other passengers. Looking towards the other end of the dock, his eyes searched for his new employer, John Sunder. They found him, and as Holder approached him, recognition passed over John’s face.

“Holder,” he said, smiling, extending his hand, “Welcome to Mackinac Island.”

Holder took his hand and shook it, while a wave of relief washed over him. 

“Thanks, man,” he said. “It’s nice to finally be here.”

Suddenly, and with no explanation, Holder felt that he had made the right choice. He wasn’t sure he could trust that feeling, since he had never had a history of making good decisions. If it was possible that it could be true, he thought, that would mean that he could really start over, here on the island. This is where his new life would start. 

* * * * *

Up ahead on the corner of Main Street and Fort Street was a small, white, metal building with no windows and stairs along the side leading to a screen door.

John pointed to it and said, “There’s home base. Not much to look at, but the rent is cheap and it’s enough space. The guys don’t spend much time there anyway since all the work is done up at West Bluff.”

“West Bluff?” Holder asked.

“That’s the neighborhood we service. Mostly millionaires who have second, third, or even fourth houses and stay in ‘em for about a month or so in the summer. A big house like that sits so long out of use, stuff is bound to need maintenance, and that’s where we come in. It’s only a few days into the season, so you haven’t missed much, and business is about to pick up. Water heaters act up, air filters need replacing, stuff like that. Sometimes they’ll even want to build an extension on to the existing structure, like another dining room or something. We do that too. I really don’t get these people, needing two dining rooms, but it sure pays the bills, so I’m not complaining.”

By now they had reached the building. They climbed the steps and entered the office. There was a small waiting area, with no more than four cheap-looking chairs, divided from the rest of the space by a reception desk with no receptionist. Past that, the rest of the space served as both a sort of break room and John’s office in the back corner. There was a table which couldn’t work as a table because it was covered in tools, blueprints for construction, and unfiled papers. The only other things in the small room were a water cooler, a mini fridge for the workers’ lunches, and work boots and jackets strewn about. From the dust and the clutter Holder surmised this place hadn’t been cleaned in months.

A group of four guys were sitting around the table, talking and laughing and eating breakfast. They looked up when the two men passed the desk. John gestured at each one as he introduced them.

“Holder, these are the guys, Mark Hamel, Ethan Brooks, Lincoln Taylor, and Milo Walker. Guys, this is Stephen Holder.” Stephen shook each of their hands.

Lincoln was the first to address him.

“So, John tells us you relocated from Seattle. Why the change?”

Not knowing how to answer this yet, Stephen just said, “Fuckin rain.” This got nods all around and a few chuckles from the guys, but it was, of course, a lie. The rain suited him, unlike the sunshine, which was just too cheerful.

“Quit slacking now, guys,” John said. “I promised Mrs. Shilling we’d have her hot water back on by eight o’clock this morning, and you know her, she’s going to be on my ass if you’re not there early.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Milo, standing up from the table and taking the last bite of his breakfast sandwich.

John just rolled his eyes. “Holder, follow me. Everyone else, your new schedules are on the board.” 

All the guys grabbed their tool belts and boxes, grabbed their work schedules from an almost bare bulletin board and filed out the door.

John and Holder walked back to the small computer desk John called an office, and while Holder took a seat, John filled two mugs from the coffee maker on a side table. 

“So here’s how we do things around here,” John began, “All the houses have a guy assigned to them. Unless something requires more than one guy, or it’s somebody’s day off, we like to keep it that way. Our clients like the consistency. Knowing who’s going to show up on their property.”

“So, will I just be working on an as-needed basis then?” Stephen asked, taking a mug from John.

“Actually,” John answered, taking a swig, “you’ll be taking over the house that I normally oversee. I’m retiring from the manual labor portion of the job because the office work has started taking over so much of my day. I didn’t have an extra guy to put on it, and since you just got here, we might as well see if you’re a good fit.”

Holder wondered why simple repairs would require that he be a ‘good fit’. But he wanted his new boss to like him, so he just asked, “What should I start with?”

“Well, first I need to explain a bit about Miss B.”

“Who?”

“The owner of the house. I’ve been working for her ever since she moved in over a year ago, and I’ve never assigned her another guy because we’re used to each other. She has a . . . certain way of doing things.”

“Like what?”

“Like she never calls about any issues. Only e-mails. Hardly ever leaves the house, and she’s not exactly chatty. So you’ll need to know how to behave around her.”

John’s computer made a little chime, and he sat at his desk and opened his e-mail.

“Aight sure,” Holder said. “But, what do you mean, like, she doesn’t like people?”

“Oh, no,” John answered, briefly looking up from his computer. “Nothing like that. It’s just that she— well, you’ll see for yourself. You need to be heading over there now.”

“Already?”

“I’m afraid so,” John gestured to his computer screen. “Her front porch apparently has a loose board. Before you go, let me tell you the rules.”


	2. Chapter 2

Holder biked up Grand Hill wishing he worked out his legs more. If the temperature hadn’t been in the low fifties today, he would be sweating up a storm. Luckily, Mackinac Island was always about ten degrees cooler than the mainland. With this kind of weather, it was still necessary to wear a sweatshirt in May.  
  
Holder biked past the Grand Hotel and saw up ahead the entrance to West Bluff. As Holder approached the security gate, the officer on duty stepped out of the security booth and gave him a wary look.  
  
“You John’s new guy?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah, I just got here this morning.” Holder answered.  
  
“You got a name?”  
  
Holder sensed the guy’s attitude, but shrugged it off, and decided to have a little fun. He had never been big on authority, anyway.  
  
He said, with a small grin, “Sure do.”  
  
The man stared at him for a few moments, obviously not amused.  
  
“I will need to see your ID badge,” he finally said, “if you plan on getting through the gate today.”  
  
Holder lifted his hoodie slightly so the man could see the badge clipped to his jeans pocket.  
  
He nodded, but still showed no signs of approval of Holder’s presence. “John told me he would be sending you by today. He also told me you used to be Seattle PD.”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“And now you’re working for John,” he said, incredulously.  
  
“Also correct. You’re 3-for-3, my man.”  
  
The man stared again, then apparently decided he didn’t have any more questions. He stepped back into the booth and opened the gate without another word.  
  
  
  
The ride up the road was an interesting one. Holder was amazed at the sheer size of most of the houses. And to think most of these people only stayed here for a few weeks in the summer. He thought to himself that he would probably never experience wealth like this, but that he was fine with that. He grew up poor, and his life hadn’t gone the way he wanted, but he was in a good place now, and that’s really all he could ask for.  
  
He reached the last driveway, and just as John had instructed, he left his bike parked there, walking the rest of the way. John hadn’t told him much about Miss B except the rules of what _not_ to do in her presence. He was not to bike up to the house, but leave it at the end of the driveway. He was not to ask complicated questions, but only those that could be answered with “yes” or “no”. He was to always refer to her as “Miss B.” He was to be polite and cordial, but absolutely not flirtatious in any way. Holder didn’t anticipate that one being a problem. Whoever this cranky old lady was, he would just have to get used to her. He was going to be good at this job. He was going to succeed at something.  
  
The driveway stretched for about half a mile, through dense trees. Why he had to walk this whole way he didn’t understand. _Thanks a lot, Miss B_ , Holder thought to himself. _Whoever you are_. The tree line began to thin and then ended completely as the house came into view. It was small compared to some of the other houses in West Bluff, but it was still bigger than any house he had ever lived in. The entire exterior was light blue, with white shutters and flower boxes in every window. There was a wrap-around porchwith a large wooden swing off to one side, and a wind chime by the front door, which produced low notes in the light wind. The large yard surrounding the house was flanked on each side by woods, except for the west side, which extended to a fence just before a steep cliff overlooking an expanse of lake so wide Holder could hardly see the mainland in the distance. He looked across the yard, John’s toolbox in hand, and noticed a woman kneeling on the ground by the front steps, weeding the flower beds. He wondered whether he should call out to her, alerting her of his presence. John hadn’t included anything in the rules about that. So he just decided to do so, trying to be formal, since this would be her first impression of him.  
  
“Good afternoon . . . ma’am. I work for John, and I’m here to fix your step.”  
  
By the time he had finished saying this, he had almost crossed the distance between the tree line and where the woman was still kneeling. At hearing this, she stopped what she was doing and looked back over her shoulder at him. Almost immediately his mouth went dry.  
  
Needless to say, he was so completely wrong to expect an old woman. “Miss B” couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old. Questions began to race through his mind. How did a woman so young own her own house? Why was she living alone? How had John not told him what a beautiful woman he would be encountering today? She stood, turning to walk a few steps toward him. In an instant, things about her jumped out at him. Her impossibly long legs and arms immediately told him she had to be at least six feet tall. But when she reached him, she still had to tilt her head up slightly to look into his eyes. Hers were a deep, rich brown, and they lightened and sparkled in the sunlight though they were narrowed slightly. Her brows furrowed together, and Holder couldn’t tell if that was from annoyance or curiosity. Her hair, which fell from a ponytail in messy pieces framing her face, was lightened in places, but not from an expensive dye job, even though she could certainly afford it. It was sun-kissed, like her tan skin. She had freckles covering her nose and cheeks, and dotting her chest and shoulders. She was wearing a simple white sleeveless top and overalls ending at her mid-thigh. Her bare feet were dirty with soil.  
  
He was staring.  
  
And she wasn’t answering him.  
  
He quickly composed himself, and swallowed hard.  
  
“I take it you’re Miss B?” he asked.  
  
She nodded, not offering a hand to shake, but crossing her arms. She was wearing white gardening gloves, turned brown from working in the dirt.  
  
When she still didn’t say anything, he said, “So if you’ll just show me which step is loose I’ll get right to it.”  
  
Silently, she turned and walked to the steps, Holder following behind. She climbed them, then pushed on one with her foot, causing it to creak loudly. She looked back at him waiting for his comment.  
  
“Aight then,” Holder said, setting the toolbox down and opening it. He looked back in her direction, about to tell her this would only take him a few minutes, but she had already left, and had walked inside through the front door. Perplexed, he got to work, trying to focus on the task at hand, but his thoughts kept carrying him back to the sight of her gorgeous, bronzed skin.  
  
He silently told himself to snap out of it. He needed this job to go well. He couldn’t mess it up on the first day. Just make a good impression, he told himself.  
  
Just then, Miss B came back out onto the porch. Holder’s eyes snapped up at her, watching her to see what she would do next. She had removed her gloves, and she had a small notepad and pen in her hand. She stared at him for a few moments, then looked him up and down, as if she was studying him.  
  
Finally, she began writing something in the notepad. Stephen thought to himself, What the hell? Is she taking notes on me or something?  
  
When she was done, she held the notepad out to him. After looking up at her questioningly, he took it and read what was there:  
  
 _What’s your name?  
  
_ He looked back up at her and said, “Oh, right, I guess I forgot to introduce myself.” With a distraction like her, he thought, who could blame him? “My name’s Holder. Stephen Holder.” He handed back the notepad.  
  
She wrote again:  
  
 _John said you were from  
_ _Seattle. I used to live  
_ _there, too.  
  
_ “For real?” Holder asked, “That’s crazy. What part?”  
  
She didn’t seem intent on answering his question. She just wrote back:  
  
 _Nice ink.  
  
_ His hand automatically reached to touch the back of his neck, and the cross tattoo there.  
  
“Thanks. It ain’t the only one I got. You got any?”  
  
She paused, like she was debating how to answer. She apparently made up her mind:  
  
 _One. I’ll give you a glass of  
_ _lemonade if you can guess  
_ _where it is.  
  
_ Ok, he thought to himself, I like this game. He took a turn studying her, looking her up and down. He finally said, “Here,” raising his arm and pointing to the side of his torso. “Over the ribs.”  
  
One corner of her mouth pulled up in a small smile, victoriously.  
  
 _Wrong. I guess you’ll have  
_ _to go thirsty.  
  
_ Holder laughed. “Ok, fair enough,” he said, handing back the notepad.  
  
She turned, as if to go back inside, then changed her mind, and wrote one more thing to him:  
  
 _You don’t have to call me  
_ _Miss B. Just call me Olivia._  
  
She left the notepad with him, and went back inside. Holder watched her go, confused by this exchange. What was with the notepad? When John had said she ‘wasn’t exactly chatty’, Holder didn’t think he meant ‘doesn’t speak at all’.  
  
He shook these questions from his head and got back to work fixing the step. His thoughts drifted to her eyes, the possibilities of where the tattoo she’d teased him about could be, and the small smile at the corner of her mouth.  
  
Just then, he had a thought. A thought that maybe he had made a mistake agreeing to follow this whole “no flirting” rule.


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia scrubbed her hands in the warm water from the kitchen sink, being sure to clean the dirt from under her fingernails. Her back and arms were already tired from working in the flower beds for a couple of hours that morning, so she decided to quit for today. The work would still be waiting for her tomorrow.  
  
She’d pulled on an old sweatshirt, and was taking out food from the fridge to make breakfast. Just then she heard Holder knock lightly on the open door. He was standing just outside the doorway, toolbox in hand.  
  
“Um…I’m all finished,” he said. “I think I’ve fixed the board, but if you still don’t like it I can come back and actually replace it…if you want. Oh, and here’s this back.”  
  
He crossed the distance from the door to the kitchen island in just a few long strides, and placed the notepad on it, looking down at Olivia. He waited for a few moments, and she eyed him, with her normal frigid exterior, but with secret amusement at his timid demeanor.  
  
“Ok, then,” he said. “I guess I’ll be going.”  
  
Just as he was turning to leave, Olivia held up a hand to stop him.  He watched her as she picked up the notepad, quickly scribbled something, then handed it back to him.  
  
_Why don’t you stay for  
some breakfast?  
  
_ His eyes snapped to hers, in what looked like surprise, and maybe even a twinge of fear. Olivia stifled a chuckle. She was beginning to enjoy teasing him.  
  
“Oh, um, that’s okay,” Holder sputtered out.  
  
She wrote again:  
  
_Come on.  I won’t_  
 _even make you answer_  
 _a question for it._  
  
He paused as she pulled a mixing bowl from a cabinet, and watched her, as if debating what he should do.  
  
Finally, he said, “Ok, why not? Breakfast sounds great.”  
  
_Heat up a skillet, will  
you?  
  
_ “Sure,” Holder said, looking around, then seeing pots and pans hanging from a rack above the island.  
  
He reached to pull a skillet from its hook, and Olivia looked over just as his hoodie pulled up, exposing about two inches of his abdomen above the waistband of his jeans. She forced herself to look back down and focus on measuring flour. She couldn’t be caught staring.  
  
For the next few minutes, she added ingredients to the bowl, then let Holder mix them while she rummaged through a drawer and found a spatula. She leaned back against a counter, and with his back to her, she could shamelessly stare. He’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and she could see the muscles flexing in his forearms. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like if those arms lifted her up onto the counter by her waist, if those hands cupped her face or brushed against her cheek…  
  
She physically shook her head a bit, trying to dispel her wandering thoughts. Just in time, too, because he finished and turned to hand her the bowl. She nodded a ‘thank you’, and somehow understanding, he nodded back. She turned the dial down slightly, and poured some batter in the pan, which created a dull sizzle.  
  
Holder, seemingly more relaxed, began making conversation.  
  
“Pancakes, huh? My favorite.” He gave her a small grin.  
  
Olivia nodded.  
  
“So, when did you buy this house?”  
  
Olivia looked around for the notebook, then reached for it, at the same time Holder did. Her hand landed on his, and she quickly pulled it back.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, then handed her the notebook. “Um, here.”  
  
She nodded her thanks again, then wrote:  
  
_I didn’t. I inherited it._  
 _About three years ago._  
  
“Oh, cool. From a parent? Or…” He trailed off and looked away, probably realizing this was too personal of a question. Olivia didn’t know how she would begin to answer him, so she didn’t, and turned back to the stove, picking up the spatula and flipping the first pancake.  
  
“Whoa, whoa,” Holder said, “hold up.”  
  
Olivia looked up at him, questioningly.  
  
“How’d you do that?” he asked. “How does your first pancake look so perfect? Everybody knows that the first pancake is supposed to look awful. You’re cheating.” He smiled again, teasingly.

Olivia smiled, rolled her eyes, and wrote again:

_Quit bothering me  
and set the table._

Holder held up his hands defensively, and said, “Aight, that’s fine. I am just the help, after all.” He searched the cabinets and drawers until he found plates and utensils, while Olivia removed the pancake from the skillet, and started on another one, shaking her head and laughing under her breath.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“Wow, that was really good,” Holder said, after cleaning his plate. He leaned back in the chair, clearly becoming more comfortable in Olivia’s presence.

Olivia wrote in the notepad, then slid it across the table.

_Thanks. It’s my grandpa’s_   
_recipe. He used to make_   
_them for us all the time._

“Well, kudos to Gramps,” Holder said, sliding it back.

_You should really try the_   
_ones they serve at the_   
_pancake house on Main_   
_St. They put 3 scoops of_   
_ice cream and fresh fruit_   
_on top._

“I will definitely do that,” Holder said. “Thanks for the tip.”

_Do you cook?_

“Hell yeah, girl. My vegetarian fajitas are off the chain.”

_Oh, God. Please don’t tell  
me you’re a vegetarian._

“And what’s so bad about that?” Holder asked, leaning forward to rest his folded arms on the table, like he was ready for a debate.

_Are you kidding? No filet_   
_mignon? No grilled chicken?_   
_I just couldn’t live like that._   
_It’s just not right._

Holder laughed. “What I hear you saying is, you’re not creative enough to be a vegetarian. You can’t come up with a dish that doesn’t involve meat?”

Olivia rolled her eyes again playfully, pushing the notepad away, as if to say, ‘I’m done with this conversation.’

Holder smiled triumphantly, and said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Then he looked at his watch, and his eyes went wide. “Shit. Hey, thanks a lot for breakfast, but I better get going or John’s gonna think I’m slacking off on my first day.”

Olivia nodded and got up to walk him to the door.

He picked up the toolbox and turned to look at her. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” he said, smiling, and hurried across the porch and down the steps. About halfway across the yard, he looked back over his shoulder and waved.

Olivia waved back, and as she watched him go, she allowed a thought to roam in the back of her mind: What else was going to need fixing soon?


	4. Chapter 4

When Holder reached the security gate, the guard once again gave him a wary look. Holder tried to just ignore him, and wait for the gate to open. But it didn’t.

“Yo, Eastwood!” Holder called to him. “You mind?”

“What did you call me?” The guard asked, stepping out of the booth, his hands on his belt, one hand a little too close to his holster.

“Whoa, easy there, sharp shooter,” Holder said, laughing, holding his hands up. “It was just a joke. You keep squinting at me like you got a problem with me, and I don’t even know your name.”

The guard stared him down for a few more moments, then said, “Will Morrow.”

“And I’m Stephen Holder. See, now we’re getting to know each other. You need to lighten up, Eastwood.”

Will didn’t seem to think Holder was very amusing. He folded his arms and asked, “You want to tell me what you were doing at Miss B’s house for over an hour this morning?”

Holder said, “Olivia had a loose step that needed fixing,” slightly emphasizing her name. “I thought you knew I’m working for John.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “What kind of maintenance man takes an hour to fix a loose step?”

“Well if you must know,” Holder said, “Olivia made me some pancakes. Well, actually, we made them together. She’s a real nice lady, ain’t she?” He smirked, thinking he’d won.

“Yes. Yes, she is,” Will said, and for a moment, Holder thought he caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. But just then he turned around, walked back to the booth, and opened the gate, not looking up at Holder again.

* * * * *

“So, how’d it go?” John asked, leafing through stacks of papers on his desk.

Holder was tempted to ask every question that had plagued his mind on the ride back to town: Why the hell hadn’t John told him that “Miss B” didn’t speak? And what was with all the rules? She hadn’t seemed perturbed when he’d made conversation with her, and she had given him her real name. And what the hell was that security guy’s problem? 

But instead, he just said, “Great. Yeah, just fine.”

“Really?” John asked, sitting back at his computer with his third cup of coffee that morning, having apparently found the papers he was looking for. “I heard from Will that you didn’t exactly follow instructions.”

Holder’s jaw tightened. What a fuckin snitch, he thought. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t know what he told you, but she asked me not to call her Miss B. And she asked me to stay for breakfast, too.”

“She what?” John asked, his eyes wide.

Holder paused, and wondered if he’d said something wrong. “She…she asked me to eat breakfast with her.”

John seemed to consider this.

“Sir, I’m confused,” Holder said. “What’s the problem here?”

“I guess there isn’t one,” John said. Then, after a pause, he looked at Holder and said “Well? Back to work.” He turned back to his computer to signal that the conversation was over.

Holder left, thinking that this had to be the weirdest first day of work ever.

* * * * *

Holder had no problem letting the guys convince him to come with them to Horn’s Bar after work. He needed a beer. Since tourist season hadn’t begun yet, they were the only people there besides the staff. A country singer twanged softly from a radio behind the bar, and someone was putting chairs on tabletops, mopping the floors. As Mark and Ethan played a round of pool, Holder talked with Lincoln.

“You better get ready for next week,” Lincoln said. 

“What’s happening next week?” Holder asked.

“The Finchers are building an addition onto their house for what seems like the tenth time. You’ll be working with us on it.”

“Is that your assigned house?”

Lincoln nodded, nursing his beer. “They’re one of the nicer couples in West Bluff. They actually live here year round. Them, and Miss B, of course. Speaking of that, how was your first day?”

“Better than I thought it would be,” Holder said. “Except for that asshole security guard.”

“Who, Will? He’s a great guy.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What are you talking about?” Lincoln asked, turning to face Holder.

“He didn’t want to let me in the gate when I showed up, and then he kept asking me all these questions about what I had been doing at Olivia’s house and why I had stayed so long. That guy needs to chill.”

Lincoln started laughing, turned back to the bar and focused on his beer again.

“What, man?” Holder asked.

“Dude, it’s so obvious to everyone but you. Will’s been crushing on her ever since she came here. He sits in that booth almost every day like he’s single-handedly protecting her or something.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, man,” Lincoln said. “Now that you have an excuse to go to her house all the time, you’re probably on his bad side for good.”

Holder thought about this for a second, then asked, “So, are they together?”

Lincoln laughed again. “Christ, no. She hardly leaves her house, and even when she does, Will hardly speaks to her. Gets real shy around her. Just like Milo with Katie,” he said, gesturing farther down the bar.

Milo was talking quietly with the bartender, Katie, who was leaning her forearms on the bar facing him, all smiles.

“She flirts with him all the time, you’d think the poor guy would have gotten up the nerve to ask her out by now.”

Holder nodded, lost in thought.

“Look, man,” Lincoln said, “As long as you do your job, I don’t see a problem with you and Miss B being friends. I just wouldn’t advertise it to Will if I were you.

Holder hadn’t even been on this island for 24 hours, and he already had an enemy. That’s just great, he thought. 

At the end of the bar, Katie laughed at something Milo had said, twisting a piece of hair around her finger. Milo smiled nervously, and she turned her back to clean some glasses. He looked at Lincoln, who gave him a reassuring thumbs up. Milo raised his arm to give one back, but only succeeded in knocking over his glass. 

Lincoln leaned his forehead into his hand, and Holder laughed under his breath.

Katie, seeing the mess, immediately began cleaning it up. Milo apologized over and over, but Katie just smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“This guy,” Lincoln said, smiling and shaking his head, “is completely hopeless.”


	5. Chapter 5

Olivia paced around her bedroom indecisively.  She’d come up with a plan, but she was backtracking.  Sure, requesting a new shower head was a good enough excuse, but would it really merit Holder taking a whole trip out here so early in the morning?  Well, that’s what she paid John’s company for, wasn’t it?  But it would be too obvious.  But maybe not.  Was she just lying to herself?

God, this was high school all over again.  She’d hated this game of should-I-text-him-first-or-wait-for-him-to-make-the-first-move.  Because, invariably, 'he' never did.

She felt silly.

But also she really wanted him to come back.

She’d waited several days so as not to seem _too_ eager, and she’d spent about a half an hour composing her email to John, which would be short, and relatively formal, in case Holder should happen to see it.  But there was no reason for him to see it.  But what if he did?  He couldn’t think she was being forward.

_Jesus Christ, Olivia_ , she thought to herself, _get a grip. He’s just a man._

Finally satisfied with her self-control, she sat down on her bed and pulled her laptop into her lap.  Determined to follow through with her plan, she hit ‘send’ before she could second-guess herself again.  She closed the computer and smiled at a small victory that only she knew about.

Then she panicked.

_I should put on lip gloss,_ was the only coherent thought she could manage.  She bolted to the bathroom, then caught herself.  _No, not lip gloss._ That would almost certainly be too obvious _.  Just chapstick.  Yeah, it’s still cold out, don’t want my lips to look dry or cracked._   This thought, of course, only lead her to the thought of Holder’s lips, under his stupid but somehow lovable mustache.  Were they soft?  And what would it feel like if they touched hers? Or if they touched her skin–

_Shit.  This is going to be a long day._

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Thursday morning was foggy and freezing.  When Holder emerged from his small apartment above Ryba’s bike rentals the moisture in the air touched his face, and for a moment, he was transported back to Seattle.  An undeniable craving for a cigarette surfaced, even though he’d quit several years ago.  He missed the city, but not the man that he had been while he lived there.  He tried to shake off those thoughts and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Fortunately, the walk to work was short.  So short, in fact, that he could cover the distance from his apartment to the stairs of the maintenance building in under 100 steps.  He’d counted.  He bounded up the stairs, trying to warm up his limbs. 

As soon as he entered the building, he smelled bacon, and regretted sleeping in and not cooking anything.  The guys were hanging around the office eating what looked like breakfast sandwiches, and once Holder saw them his stomach began to ache.

As if Milo had read his mind, he said, “Holder, think fast!” and tossed a sandwich wrapped in wax paper in Holder’s direction.

Catching it, Holder said, “Man I could kiss you right now.” He tore away the wrapper and hungrily sunk his teeth into the bread.

“Try to contain yourself,” Milo answered, chuckling. “Besides, it’ll be your turn to buy tomorrow.”

“What, seriously?” Holder asked.

“Yeah, dude,” said Ethan, “And if you’re taking requests, I’d love one of Martha’s cinnamon rolls.”

The remaining three guys exclaimed in unison, “Me too!”

Holder shook his head and said, “Damn, son. I ain’t even got my first paycheck yet.”

“Too bad rookie,” said Ethan, tossing his empty wrapper in the trashcan across the room, like a basketball. “Them’s the rules.” He threw on a heavy jacket, clapped Holder once on the back, and headed out the door.

Just then, John said from the back of the room, “Holder, got a job for ya.”

Holder felt a jolt of electricity somewhere in his stomach that flushed warmth through his body, and instantly he hoped Olivia needed something, anything.  Then he caught himself.  Was he seriously feeling butterflies? Fuckin butterflies? _That’s some fifth grade shit,_ he mentally chastised himself, and walked over to John’s desk.

He got what he wanted.

“Miss B would like you to install a lower pressure shower head,” John said. “We keep some of those in one of those boxes over there.” He vaguely gestured to a corner of the room that housed about twenty cardboard boxes.

“You got it boss,” Holder said, and jokingly saluted John, who nodded but gave him a slightly suspicious look.  _Jesus_ , Holder thought to himself, _don’t look so damn excited_.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Holder, having made it past the security gate with no more than a sideways glance from Will, peddled his bike just a little faster than normal through the woods, and walked a little faster than normal while crossing the yard. 

He spotted Olivia on the front porch swing.  She was facing the house, her back to him, leaned against a pillow, reading…something.  He couldn’t quite make it out.  When he climbed the steps of the front porch she must have heard him, because she looked up from her book and, when she saw him, immediately grinned.

Holder felt like he’d taken a brick to the stomach.  Damn, she was beautiful. 

She wore black leggings with long, thick socks, one of which was puckered around her ankle, and a long sleeve t-shirt that peeked out from beneath a worn-looking sweatshirt with one word on it: Yale.  Her chestnut hair cascaded down her back and past the seat of the swing.  He desperately wanted to run his fingers through it.  It probably smelled like heaven.  Out of the blue came the urge to sit on the swing beside her, pull her into his lap and cuddle her until the morning sky turned to dusk.

He then realized he was staring.  Again.

But her smile didn’t fade one bit.

Holder cleared his throat.  “Um, hey, I’m back,” he said, and then instantly wished he had thought of something better to say.

Olivia reached for the notepad that was conveniently on the porch railing behind her.  She scribbled in it while Holder crossed the porch towards her, and then she handed it to him.

_I can see that._

Holder laughed, and said, “I see, sarcasm’s your thing.”

Olivia shrugged, then pointed to a rocking chair beside Holder.

“Oh, thanks,” Holder said, sitting, trying as hard as he could to relax and be cool.  He saw the book in her hands again. “What you reading?”

Olivia took the notepad back.  A thought came to Holder’s mind that he hadn’t expected.  If their conversations were only ever going to be like this, him speaking and her writing, that meant that he had lengthy moments where he could get away with staring at her.  As she wrote down what would surely take less time to say out loud, he could study her hands, her face, her mouth…

She handed the notebook back:

_Twelve Angry Men._  
_One of my favorite plays._

“Oh yeah,” said Holder, “That’s that jury movie, right?”

Olivia nodded.

“Cool…cool.”

Silence hung in the air.

“So, John said you needed a replacement shower head?”

Olivia immediately stood from the swing, grabbed the notepad, and gestured for Holder to follow her.  He couldn’t have stayed in his chair if he’d wanted to.  It was like he was pulled to her with magnetic force. 

They made their way upstairs and into the master bedroom.  Holder couldn’t help but think that the room suited her.  Light yellow walls, a bed with tons of massively overstuffed pillows and down comforters, a vase of fresh flowers, probably from her flowerbeds out front, a bookcase overflowing with books of all sizes, and a dresser directly across from the bed with a TV and VCR on top of it.

“Whoa, vintage,” Holder said, picking up a VHS tape. “I can’t remember the last time I saw one of these.”

Olivia wrote:

_It’s the only way to_  
_watch movies, in my_  
_opinion. I love to curl up_  
_at the end of the day_  
_and watch my favorites_  
_for the millionth time._

Holder looked down at her and smiled. “Who wouldn’t?” he heard himself say.

Olivia looked at the ground and nodded, then led Holder into a small bathroom off the bedroom. 

When they had just made it inside, she turned to face him abruptly.  Holder didn’t notice soon enough to stop walking, and crashed into her.  She almost fell backwards, but Holder’s arms instinctively grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her to his chest.  She grabbed his biceps to steady herself.  He looked down at her, and their eyes met.  He heard Olivia’s breath catch in her throat.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, in a whisper.  But he didn’t let go.  Their faces were no more than a few inches apart.  Olivia’s gaze flicked down to his mouth, and her tongue darted out to wet her own lips, which then parted slightly.

_Fucking hell,_ he thought.

Holder’s whole body flushed with heat.  She felt so good in his hands.  Her hair smelled like vanilla and sugar, and he was hungry all over again.  When Olivia’s hands wandered from his arms to his chest, and took small fistfuls of his shirt, Holder couldn’t stop himself from doing what he did next.  He tipped his chin forward, bringing his lips closer to hers.

Suddenly she turned her head and pushed him away.

Holder watched in shock as she brought her hands back to grab at the counter behind her, and pulled her body far away from his.  Holder felt like he’d been slapped in the face and kicked in the stomach at the same time.  Worse than her rejection of him, she looked frightened.  Her eyes were wide, and started to glisten, and somewhere in his chest he felt a sting.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just repeated himself. “I’m so sorry.”

Olivia shook her head vehemently, and waved her arms in front of her, as if to say, _It’s okay, don’t worry about it._

“Really,” Holder said, “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t want…I’m sorry.”

She shook her head again, looking anywhere but at him, and fled the room.

Holder listened as she hurried down the hall and back down the stairs.  He was frozen for several minutes.  _What the hell?_   Is there any way that all could have been a bad dream, and soon he would wake up and realize that he hadn’t made such a colossal mistake?  Surely he’d be fired this time.  This went way past breaking the ‘no flirting’ rule.  He’d practically assaulted her, for Christ’s sake.  Oh, God, what would he do now?  Should he go apologize again, or leave her alone?  Well, he’d probably never be seeing her again after today, since John would probably put him on the next ferry out of here.

He allowed himself to wallow in misery for a few more moments, and then, confused and hurt, he turned his attention to his work.


	6. Chapter 6

_Calm down, just calm down._

Olivia repeated this to herself over and over as she tried to catch her breath in the kitchen.  She’d been alternating between pacing and leaning against the counter for close to ten minutes.  What had just happened upstairs with Holder had thrown her for a loop.  She was so sure that she had wanted whatever was happening to happen, but something in her gave way to fear.  But she couldn’t figure out what she had been afraid of.  There was nothing about Holder that had ever made her feel less than safe. 

He was the first person besides John that she had had a normal conversation with in over a year.  He made her smile, and to think that he had tried to kiss her…

Oh god.

She had pushed him away.  Now what would he think of her?  She had acted like a crazy person.  Olivia grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge.  If deep breathing couldn’t keep her calm, maybe a glass of red would do the trick.  She grabbed a glass from the shelf and filled it about half-way.  Then, reconsidering, added a bit more for good measure.  What the hell.

She knew she needed to fix this, but she also knew she couldn’t recreate the atmosphere that had led to the almost-kiss.  The spell was broken, and it was her fault.  But she still wanted Holder’s friendship, even if her mistake meant that it would never go any further than that.

_I’ll just go to him and apologize for freaking out.  I really don’t want to ruin whatever is going on with us._

Feeling good about her semi-plan, Olivia took a few large gulps of liquid courage and headed back upstairs.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Holder kept working on installing the new shower head, trying to focus on this one thing, so he could keep the thoughts of what he’d just done at bay.  When he’d finished, he decided a quick getaway was the best option.  He would just leave the house, apologizing one more time, but not going anywhere near Olivia, and face his consequences with John back at work.

As he ventured back into the bedroom, a roll-top desk he hadn’t noticed before caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.  The top was unlocked and lifted about an inch, and he could see the corners of a few papers sticking out.  Every fiber of his being told him not to let his curiosity get the best of him.  Whatever those papers were, they were none of his business.  Why was he so interested in them?

Just one thought at the back of his mind crept up: _I’m getting fired anyway, what’s the harm?_

Holder slowly walked over to the desk, and after looking back over his shoulder, gingerly lifted the top just a few inches higher.  The papers he had seen were a combination of bills, junk mail, and bank statements.  He picked them up one by one, and just when he began to chastise himself for being so intrusive, he saw what lay beneath them. 

A newspaper from the Seattle Times, dated over four years ago.  Why would someone keep a newspaper around that long?  Holder remembered Olivia saying she used to live in Seattle, but why would she bring a newspaper with her when she moved?  Once more he looked back toward the door to make sure he wouldn’t be discovered.  The front page didn’t look all that interesting, a story about construction on the waterfront that would “revitalize the city.”  This didn’t make sense.  He flipped through the pages, searching for anything that would douse the curiosity blazing through his brain.  His fingers landed in the business section, and one particular headline caught his eye. It read:

HEIRESS TO BLACKABY EMPIRE ENGAGED

At first he thought the featured photo was just a snapshot of a snooty, obscenely rich couple, but then he realized who the woman in the photo was.  It was Olivia.  There she was, in black and white.  Dripping with diamonds, clothed in a dramatic silk gown, and hanging on the arm of an impeccably groomed man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo.  Her eyes looked up at him from the page, her expression stoic, no hint of a smile anywhere on her face, while her escort grinned widely for the cameras.

Holder felt bile rise in his throat. 

His eyes devoured the article, which mapped out Olivia’s public relationship with a man named Alistair DuPont, next in line for CEO of his father’s multi-billion dollar company.  This match was no surprise, considering that Blackaby Corporation had had their eye on acquiring DuPont’s company for some time.  The marriage would ensure the merger of not only two companies, but two very fabulous, very powerful families.

Holder’s heart felt like it would slam out of his chest.  His breath had become shallow, and his face flushed with heat, the cause of an emotion he couldn’t identify.  Anger?  Jealousy?  Shock? 

The sound of glass breaking pulled him back to reality.  His gaze snapped up toward the door, and he saw Olivia standing just inside the room, her mouth ajar, one elbow bent with her hand open as if she was holding something invisible.  He looked down, seeing bits of shattered glass scattered across the floor, and a puddle of red wine, and connected the dots.  She’d seen him going through her private belongings, and in a state of shock had dropped her glass.

Olivia took one step forward, and before realizing what he was doing, Holder flew into action.  He dropped the newspaper and bolted across the room to her, shards of glass crunching under his heavy work boots.

“Don’t,” he said forcefully. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

He reached her, and in one fluid motion, grabbed her around the waist, hoisted her up to rest against his shoulder, and supported her under the butt with one arm.  He hurried out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.  Gently, he placed her on the counter by the sink, and pulled back to look in her eyes.

“You alright?” He asked, panting slightly.

Olivia just stared back with wide eyes in disbelief.

Holder didn’t wait for a response, but instead knelt down to inspect her feet.  He pulled off the socks, which had been sufficiently soaked in wine, and tossed them into the sink.  He checked the soles of her feet, running his fingers along the soft flesh, feeling for any bits of glass that may have punctured it.  Finding none, he stood again, saying, “Luckily, I don’t think you stepped on any broken glass.”

She kept staring, silent.

“Are you okay?” He repeated his sentiment.

Suddenly, Olivia’s eyes flashed with fire, which Holder only had a few moments to register.  The next thing he knew, her hand had already collided with his face, sending a resounding _SMACK_ throughout the house.

For a few seconds, Holder didn’t move an inch.  Unable to focus his vision, he heard Olivia’s ragged breaths in front of him.  Slowly, he brought his hand up to touch his stinging cheek, and finally his eyes settled on her face. 

“Damn, chica,” he said. “What was that for?”

Her expression evolved from one of molten fury to one of tangible pain.  Her eyes quickly pooled with tears, and they ran down her face, falling from her jaw like fat raindrops.  Holder watched in rapture.  He was frozen where he stood.

Olivia broke his gaze, her eyes seeming to search about for something.  They landed on a torn envelope and pencil nearby.  She grabbed them, and hastily scribbled, then shoved the envelope to Holder’s chest.

_Who the hell do you think you are?_

Holder tried to form a coherent thought, and began stammering.  “I-I don’t…did you…I…”

Olivia looked at him expectantly, raising her eyebrows.

“I have to apologize,” he heard himself say.

Instantly, Olivia snatched the envelope back, and flipped it over to scribble again.  It was a long one, and Holder realized that he was cold from sweat.

_For which part? When you tried to_  
_kiss me without permission, when_  
_you looked through my things_  
_without permission, or when you_  
_laid your hands on me without_  
_permission?_

Holder began to realize just how deep a grave he had dug for himself.  This woman might actually claim that he’d attacked her, and perhaps add on attempted robbery.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

Holder backed away, and stumbled into a trash can, knocking it over and spilling its contents.  “I’m so sorry,” he cried, his voice horse with panic.  Olivia lowered herself from the counter, marched over to Holder, and shoved him in the chest, all the while fresh tears fell down her face.  Holder stumbled backwards again, trying to obey whatever silent order she was giving him.  She drew near to him again, and shoved him again.  She repeated this until Holder realized she was backing him toward the front door.  In an effort to appease her, he ran out of the house, across the porch, and down the steps into the yard.

“Alright, alright, I’m out!” he yelled, looking back at her.  She gave him a menacing look, then slammed the door shut.  Holder heard the deadbolt lock a few seconds later.  He stood there for about a minute, staring up at the door, unable to move.  Then he forced himself to turn around, and began walking the path back to the woods, his legs and arms aching from the comedown of the adrenaline rush.  His mind was numb.  He couldn’t bring himself to think about what he would face when he got back to the office.  He tried to push all thoughts from his mind, but one fought its way through:

In however violent a way, her hand had touched his face.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

While Holder climbed the stairs of the maintenance building, he checked his watch.  9:02 a.m.  He felt like it had been years since he’d rolled out of bed this morning.  How had all of this shit already gone down?  Then again, he’d taken his sweet time biking back to town, hoping to put off the fallout for as long as possible.  Turning the knob of the front door, he braced himself for whatever he would face inside.  The building was empty except for John, still sitting at his desk.  He looked up from his computer, and seeing Holder, said, “Come on back here, will you Holder?”

_This is it. I’m dead,_ Holder thought.

He meandered over to John’s desk, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey, before you sit,” said John, “Pour us a couple mugs.”

Holder obeyed, petrified.  He filled two mugs with black coffee from the machine, handing one to John, who took a few large gulps, then asked, “Second day go any better?”

Holder studied John’s face.  Was he testing him? Or perhaps Olivia hadn’t emailed him yet informing him of the disaster that was the past hour. “Um…” he said, desperately trying to think of something to say.

As if fate was taunting him, just then John’s computer chimed.

“Hold that thought,” John said, turning to read the new email after seeing who it was from.

_Oh god, this is it for sure._

John perused the email for a moment, then his brow began to furrow.  Holder steeled himself, watching John’s every movement, waiting for him to explode.  But it didn’t happen.  John kept his eyes on the screen, and said, “Huh. Miss B says you are not at all what she expected.”

To his own amazement, Holder formed a sentence, “What does she meant by that?”

“She says you do the job well, but you’re also personable, and understanding of her boundaries.”

_What did he just say?_

John followed the words on the screen with his finger. “She goes on to say that she’s glad she’s found someone she can rely on. Not trying to show me up are ya?” John chuckled.

Holder released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.  He sat in complete and utter disbelief.  Was this the same woman whose house he’d fled this morning?  The one who’d yelled at him?  (In her own way, of course.)  The woman who’d slapped him in the face?  What the hell was going on?

“Oh, there’s more,” John continued, quoting, “’P.S. Would you please tell Mr. Holder that I would like for him to return to the house at his earliest convenience. I have a matter I need to discuss with him.’” He looked questioningly at Holder. “Got any idea what that matter might be?”

Holder stared off into space, and answered, “No fucking clue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn't too tortuous;) Will try to be back with the next update soon, I have a pretty good idea how I want the next chapter to play out.


	7. Chapter 7

Holder had had a few too many surprises today for his taste.  So even though he was desperate to know what Olivia wanted to discuss with him, and extremely grateful that, for whatever reason, she hadn’t had him fired, he was not looking forward to walking into another situation he wasn’t prepared for.  He’d stalled by assisting Lincoln with a job at the Fincher’s house that required two men, but now they were done and the work day was almost over.  He was exhausted physically and mentally, and at this point, he was willing to submit to whatever punishment Olivia had lined up.

Trying to banish the worries from his mind, he allowed the bike to coast for a while, closed his eyes, and felt the evening wind whip against his face.

As Holder entered West Bluff for the second time that day, Will gave him a questioning look.  “Back already?”

Holder wished he didn’t have to put up with Will’s attitude today.  This was the last thing he needed to deal with.  He pressed his lips into a tight line to keep from snapping back at him, and nodded.

Will stepped closer, his arms folded across his chest. “Weren’t you just there this morning?”

“Listen, Eastwood,” Holder blurted out, “I know you got a major crush on me, but if you’re going to keep tabs on me like this, I think you should know that stalking is a serious crime.  So maybe you should back off.  Capiche?”

Well, so much for keeping his mouth shut.

Will’s outward expression remained calm, but Holder could read from his eyes that under the surface, his blood was boiling. “No, you listen to me,” Will spat back. “I have a duty to protect these residents.  So if I get a sense that you could be taking advantage of one of them, I am going to do whatever it takes to make sure that does not happen.  I don’t like the way you speak to me, and I don’t like the way you’re sniffing around Miss B’s house every chance you get.  You better shape up real quick, my friend.  And the next time you even look at me funny, I will not hesitate to report you to Mr. Sunder.  _Capiche_?”

Holder honestly didn’t have the energy anymore for his usually playful retorts, or to confront this guy, or even to tense his muscles in preparation for a possible fight.  He would take this situation step by step.  All he needed right now was to get past this gate.  So he would bow down to Will’s almighty authority in order to do it.

He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Yes, sir.”  He said evenly.

Will thought for a moment, and said, “Alright, then.”  He stepped back into the booth, raised the gate and dismissed Holder without another look.

Holder made it up the road, and walked to the edge of the woods before pausing when he saw Olivia on the front porch again.  She was sitting on the front steps, her chin resting in her hands, but she lifted it when she noticed him.  She looked beautiful in the early evening light, and Holder wondered if there was ever a time of day she didn’t.  She of course, said nothing, and didn’t make any sudden movements, so Holder continued walking.  Olivia held his gaze steadily until he stopped a few feet in front of her.  Nervous, she handed him a notepad with a prewritten note:

 _Please come inside._  
I promise I won’t  
attack you.

Holder laughed, despite himself.  It felt great, and released at least a bit of the tension he was holding in his shoulders.  He exhaled once sharply, and looked down at Olivia. “You sure you’re not trying to trap me into some sort of Mayweather versus Pacquiao death match?”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smile.  She stood and walked into the house, and he followed closely behind.  She walked through a doorway under the stairs, leading him to the spacious living room, then gestured for him to have a seat in one of the large armchairs.  When he did, she grabbed a spiral bound notebook from the table beside him, and gave it to him.  This, too, had been written in advance.  Holder’s eyes didn’t leave Olivia as she walked to the other side of the room, shaking out her arms, seemingly to dispel some pent-up nervousness.  When she had settled in another arm chair that faced his, she gestured to the notebook, as if to say, _Go ahead._

“Ok,” he said, and hesitantly began reading.

_Mr. Holder,_

_Where do I begin this letter?  I’ve emailed John, but now I don’t know how to put into words what I need to say to you.  I’m sure I seem strange to someone who has only just met me, and I hope the way I communicate doesn’t bother you.  I think I should start with the fact that I am deeply sorry.  This morning was nothing less than a giant clusterfuck, and I am to blame.  After what almost happened in the bathroom, I should have acted like a normal human, but instead I acted like a scared two-year-old and panicked.  Anyway, just know that I didn’t mean to freak out on you like that.  I was pretty angry when I saw you looking through my desk, and I feel that that anger was justified, but every one of my actions after that point was horrible.  You didn’t want me to hurt myself by stepping on broken glass, and went above and beyond to take care of me.  But I panicked again and lashed out.  Maybe one day I can explain why I did that and what you read in that newspaper, if you just give me a little time.  I forgive you for looking through my belongings.  Will you please forgive me for the way I acted?  I told John that I can rely on you, and that is true. The first day I met you I knew you were a good person, and even after this morning, for some reason I feel like I can trust you.  I don’t want you to leave Mackinac Island, and I don’t want you to stop being my maintenance man.  If you are willing to put up with me, I want to be your friend._

_Olivia_

Needless to say, an apology had been the absolute last thing Holder had expected to hear.  Relief washed over him in waves.  He could breath easily for the first time in hours, and he leaned back into the chair, unwinding.  He looked at Olivia, who was sitting almost on the edge of the chair, staring at him expectantly.

“Wow,” Holder said. “To be completely honest with you, this was not at all what I was expecting you to say.”

Olivia smiled knowingly, and nodded.

Holder got up from his chair and moved towards Olivia’s side of the room, and sat back down at the end of the couch closest to her.  He flipped to the next page in the notebook, and handed it to her in anticipation of a conversation.  “Again, I’m really sorry for this morning.”

She grabbed a pen and began to write.

_I told you I’ve already forgiven you._

“And of course I forgive you,” he answered. Olivia seemed to visibly relax too, and Holder couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face.  “I guess this is the part where I thank you endlessly for not having me fired.

She scrunched her nose and nodded, as if to say, _Yep, sure is._

Holder laughed again.  “Seriously, thank you.  And I’m glad that now I have a new friend.  Even if that friend occasionally slaps me in the face when I deserve it.”

She looked away and blushed, then wrote again.

_Would you please stay and help me with something?_

“Anything.”

To Holder’s surprise, when Olivia stood up she gently took a hold of his hand and led him out of the room.  Her skin was soft in his, and he silently wished she would never let go.  Unfortunately, when they reached the kitchen, she did.  She opened a cabinet and pulled out a small, hand-held cooking torch.

“Damn, girl, I don’t know about this whole ‘being friends’ thing if you’re some sort of pyro.”

Olivia aimed it at him like a television cop who has cornered a suspect.

Holder threw up his hands defensively.  “Alright, you got me! I surrender!”

She smiled and put down the torch, turning to fetch something from the pantry.  She handed him a small can of butane and he fueled up the torch while she gathered ingredients.

“And what are we making today, chef?”

_Crème brûlée. My favorite._

“Aw yeah, I could get on board with that.”

_Good, cause you’re going to help me. Wash your hands._

“Yes mam,” Holder said, and headed to the sink.  While she measured some heavy cream into a pan, he scrubbed his hands.  Once he’d rinsed them off, instead of drying them on a towel, he flicked a little of the excess water at Olivia.  She flinched, guarding her face, and let out a very small but audible giggle. 

He paused, and stared at her.  Her smile faded, and she furrowed her brows like she was asking a question.   _What?_

“Oh nothing,” Holder said. “I just…I’ve never heard you laugh before.  It’s nice.”

She blushed, and smiled up at him in thanks.  When she turned to put away the cream and put the pan on the stove, Holder watched her, captivated.  Watched how she moved about the room.  Watched as her long hair fell forward across her face, and she took an elastic from her wrist and secured it in a ponytail.  He had no doubt this woman was crazy.  And working for her would probably get crazy sometimes.  Eastwood would grill him each chance he got, and lord knows he might make a few more mistakes and maybe even get slapped a few more times.  But she looked over at him, caught him staring and smiled timidly, and he realized something.  He would be willing to live this day over again a thousand times, if at the end of it he still got to be here with her, making her laugh, and seeing her look at him like she was now.


	8. Chapter 8

Holder lay in bed, replaying the previous 24 hours in his mind.  Even after a full night’s sleep, he was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster he’d just been on.  He’d started out excited at the prospect of seeing Olivia, then some crazy shit happened, then he’d ended the day in the same way.

 

When the brûlées had been cooked and placed in the refrigerator, Olivia had simply thanked Holder for the help, and bid him goodnight.  Before he could turn to leave, however, she’d placed her hand on his arm to stop him, like she’d forgotten something.  Quickly, she wrote:

 

_You’ll be back tomorrow to  
help me eat these, right?_

 

He’d felt so relieved.  He’d promised that as soon as he clocked out of work the next day, he would be here, and she’d smiled at that.  Now all that stood in his way was the work day.

 

Today, he’d be with Lincoln replacing drywall in the Lakeview Hotel.  A busted pipe had caused a good deal of water damage, but at least the job gave them time to talk.

 

 “So I heard Miss B. called you back to her house yesterday,” Lincoln said.  “What was the wording…'to discuss something'?  What was that all about?”

 

Holder exhaled a large breath, and took a break from his work to grab a bottled water from an ice chest at the side of the room.  He closed the top, sat on it, and took a few large gulps.  “You sure you want to know?”

 

Lincoln crossed the room, as well.  “Shit, man. That bad?”

 

“Nah.  Well, yes, but not anymore.”

 

Lincoln just raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms across his chest.  He obviously wasn’t going to leave this alone.  So Holder sighed once more, then started in on the story as best he could.  He left out several details, like exactly how giddy he’d been when John told him Olivia needed him for something again, and about the newspaper he’d found amongst the papers on her desk.  He was pretty sure Olivia didn’t want anyone knowing about it, based on the fact that she’d slapped him for having looked at it.  Other than that, he told the truth.

 

Lincoln’s face had remained surprisingly calm during the somewhat-insane story.  When Holder had finished, he asked, “Isn’t rule number one with Miss B. like, ‘no flirting’?  Did you forget about that one?”

 

Holder chuckled and shook his head.  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.  It’s just that the whole thing threw me for a loop.  I make a mistake like that, and less than a day later she’s inviting me over to eat at her house?  Trust me, I’m not complaining, it’s just a little hard to keep up.”

 

“She _has_ lived in that house all alone for a long time,” Lincoln observed.  “Maybe the loneliness finally got to her.”

 

“What, you mean like she’s crazy?  No, man, that’s not it.  She’s actually pretty cool, I’m just worried I’ll step on another land mine and ruin things again.”

 

Lincoln seemed to really consider this, and then said, “I guess you’ll have to learn her boundaries.  Whatever happened in her life that made her become silent might have affected her in other ways.  I used to have a buddy with PTSD.  Now, I’m not saying it’s that.  Just that I had to learn to avoid saying or doing certain things around him so he’d be more comfortable.  Maybe you’ll have to do the same.”  When Holder, nodded, he continued with a smirk.  “And I’d be willing to bet that one of the things you should probably avoid doing is going through her stuff.”

 

Holder rolled his eyes, stood, and shoved Lincoln in the arm.  He drank the rest of the water in a few big gulps, then tossed the bottle aside.  “Come on, princess, we ain’t got all day,” he said, returning to the wall.

 

Lincoln laughed and said, “Hey, you’re the one who took a break in the first place!”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

_Oh, come on.  Not today,_ Holder thought to himself as he coasted to a stop at the security gate.

 

Eastwood was getting to be one stubborn son of a bitch.  When he’d seen Holder coming, he’d stepped out of the booth, hands on his hips.  Holder took a few deep breaths.

 

“What possible reason could you have for coming up here for the third time in 48 hours?” Will asked, obviously determined not to let Holder past until he’d given an answer.

 

Today, Holder decided, was not a day he could put up with this shit.  He spoke before considering the weight of his words.

 

“Well let’s see Eastwood, what possible reason _could_ a woman have for calling a man to her house two evenings in a row?… Maybe she wants to do some late-night baking with him.  Maybe she wants to play a game of twister.  Or maybe…not.”

 

Holder felt a twinge of guilt for insinuating anything about Olivia.  But maybe, he thought, it would be enough to get Eastwood off his back.

 

Well, in a way, he was right.

 

Will’s arms dropped to his side, his expression suddenly lax.  Holder instantly regretted what he’d said.  Will wasn’t even trying to hide his heartache.  Either that or he was too shocked to keep a straight face.

 

“Look, man,” Holder started, about to explain his lie.

 

But before he could, Will hurried back into the booth, and raised the gate, not looking back in Holder’s direction again.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Olivia met him at the front door, opening it just before he’d raised his hand to knock.  She smiled hello, and once again, Holder melted.  Her deep brown eyes were framed by thick glasses, and her hair was arranged in a messy ponytail that made him think she probably woke up this beautiful.

 

“Hi,” he said quietly, still taking in the sight of her.

 

She grabbed his hand, and laced her fingers in his like it was the most natural thing in the world.  He smiled in wonder, and she led him inside to the living room.  The TV on the mantel was playing a _Fraiser_ re-run, and after Olivia had deposited him on the couch, she went back into the kitchen to get their desserts.

 

Holder suddenly felt way too nervous, and wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans.

 

“Don’t screw it up this time.  Don’t screw it up this time.  Don’t screw it up this time,” He whispered to himself.

 

When he heard Olivia’s footsteps approaching he shut up, and tried to act casual.  She carried a tray with two crème brûlées, the necessary notepad and pen, and surprisingly, a glass of wine and a beer.  She offered him the latter and he accepted it with a thank you.  The two were quiet for a while, eating their desserts and watching the show.  Or at least Holder was pretending to.  All he could think about was Olivia on the couch beside him.  The way she’d tucked her feet underneath herself to get comfortable.  The way she was wearing the same type of clothing as the day when he’d almost kissed her.  He kept going back to that moment, thinking about what it would have felt like if she’d just let him—

 

Rousing Holder from his daydream, Olivia leaned forward to grab the notepad.

 

_Can I ask you something?_

 

“Anything,” Holder answered, his gaze fixed on her face. 

 

She paused for a moment, and bit her bottom lip in thought.  Holder had to hold himself back from kissing her right then and there.   _Shit,_ he thought.  _This woman is going to kill me._

 

Finally, she’d organized her thoughts and began to write.

 

_Do you ever want to go back_  
in time and change something  
so badly you drive yourself  
a little bit crazy?

 

Holder chuckled and said, “Of course.  Everybody does that.”

 

Olivia nodded, thought again, and then wrote.

 

_In that case, would you do_  
me a favor, and help me get  
something right?

 

Holder, a bit confused, tried to search her face for an explanation.  “Sure, but what do you mean?” He asked.

 

Olivia smiled, and excitedly hopped up from the couch, grabbing her glass of wine while doing so.  She ran into the next room and soon came back to drop something into Holder’s lap.  It took a moment to register, and he still couldn’t believe it.

 

It was the newspaper he’d found while snooping through her stuff.  _What the hell?_

 

When he looked back up at Olivia, she’d moved across the room, off the edge of the carpet, holding her glass of wine.  Without hesitation, she dropped it, and it shattered, startling both of them.

 

Holder jumped up from his spot on the couch, his face plastered with panic.  He stared wide-eyed at Olivia, and demanded an explanation.  “What the fuck are you doing, B?”

 

She, of course, didn’t answer.  She stared back at him, her breath quickening slightly.

 

When Holder’s eyes roamed to her feet, instantly it clicked.  He took in the sight of her long, thick socks, soaked in red wine, and knew what she was up to.  But his instincts still took control when he saw her raise one foot to take a step forward.  Again, he lunged at her, the shards of glass crunching under his shoes.

 

“Don’t,” he said, careful to use the exact same words. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

 

He scooped her up the same way he had the day before, and rushed into the kitchen.  Setting her on the counter, he immediately knelt down to inspect her feet.  But this time, he took more time sliding her socks down her ankles before they were once again flung into the sink.  And he was more intensive in running his hands along the soles of her feet, luckily finding no glass.

 

“I don’t think you stepped on any pieces,” Holder said, and then looked up at Olivia.

 

She was sitting perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, smiling down at him, obviously pleased with his performance.

 

Very slowly, Holder stood to face her once again at eye level, resting his hands on the counter on either side of her, just inches from her thighs.

 

He took his time searching her face before asking, “You alright?”

 

She continued to smile, giving him a small nod, then looked down at his lips.

 

His heart was pounding in his chest and in his ears.  Even if she could speak, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it.  He had to touch her or he’d go mad.  So he brought one hand up to her face, cupping her cheek, and letting his thumb graze along the soft flesh of her mouth. 

 

When Olivia dragged her hands up Holder’s arms to grab his biceps before moving them to his chest to grab small fistfuls of his shirt, he lost all control.  His hand migrated to the back of her neck as he brought his lips to meet hers.  He was sure he’d never felt anything quite like this in all his life.  His stomach went cold and yet burned at the same time.  He loved breathing her in, and feeling the small of her back, the tops of her thighs.  His hands couldn’t stop moving, trying to devour every square inch of her.  She tasted like sugar and heat.  His tongue gently coaxed her lips apart, and Olivia let out a quiet moan, her breath ragged.  She really was going to drive him crazy.  His mouth went in search of discovering the gentle curve of her jaw, dotting kisses in a line up to her ear.  He gently pulled the lobe into his mouth with his teeth and gave a small bite.  Then his lips followed a new line down her neck while his hands wandered to her waist, tugging up the hem of her shirt slightly.  Olivia pulled away and braced her hands against his chest, signaling to him not to move any further.  With all his might, Holder returned his hands to their places on the counter, and rested his forehead against hers, panting.  After a few moments their breathing began to normalize and Holder pulled back to look in Olivia’s eyes, still in disbelief that he could be this lucky.

 

“Damn,” he finally spoke.  “I can’t wait for our next re-do.”

 

Olivia let her head back in a laugh that brought the butterflies back to Holder’s stomach, and laced her fingers in his once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter enough to forgive me for the ridiculously long hiatus. But I got inspired today and had to get this down before I went to sleep. Please PLEASE give me suggestions for what you want to see in later chapters!:)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up - I'm going to add some warning tags because this chapter could contain possible triggers.

Olivia, of course, could remember being this terrified.

 

It was a little over a year ago, and it was the reason why she’d moved to Mackinac Island.

 

She hadn’t told Holder about it, even after he’d found the newspaper.  And she didn’t know when she would be able to.  It was a horror that had stolen her voice.  Even though the nightmares had ended, occasionally during a calm, quiet moment she would be struck by the most oppressive sense of dread.  Her breath would catch in the back of her throat, and she’d close her eyes, clench her teeth, and wait for the feeling to pass.

 

This was an entirely new feeling.

 

It was evening, and she hadn’t seen Holder since the kiss the day before.  She was walking from the kitchen to her favorite movie-watching chair in the living room, ice cream in hand.  She laid it down, and a sudden feeling of uneasiness filled her.  The only light was provided by a lamp by the television.  As she picked up the remote, about to unmute the commercials, the window in the corner of her eye caught her attention.  In the time it took to move her gaze a few inches to the right, she tried to stop herself.  Somehow, she knew what she would see out there in the dark.  

 

Like a child who believes that the monsters can’t get you if you’re underneath the covers, she thought if she just didn’t see what was there, it wouldn’t be real.

 

But she did look.  And she did see.  And he was real.

 

Olivia, of course, could remember being this terrified.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“You’re shitting me,” said Lincoln, in disbelief at Holder’s account of the day before.

 

Horn’s Bar seemed like the best place to tell the story.

 

“No, sir,” Holder answered, with a goofy grin he was struggling to keep off his face.  “How long have I known this woman?  What, like less than a week?  This is insane, man.”

 

Lincoln just shook his head sympathetically, then turned back toward the bar.  “Katie, would you be a doll and get us two more beers, please?  My friend here is going to need them.”

 

Just then, Holder felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.  He pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number.  Not wanting to deal with anyone dialing a wrong number, he declined the call.

 

Lincoln asked, “So, I’m guessing we’ve left the no-flirting rule far, far behind?”

 

Katie brought the beers, and the two men smiled in thanks.

 

“Fuck yeah, hombre,” Holder said proudly, raising his fresh bottle for a toast.  “To…not knowing what the hell is going on.  Sometimes, it’s fantastic.”  As they clinked the necks of their bottles, Holder felt his phone vibrate again.  Same number.  Still not wanting to be bothered, he declined again.

 

“I can’t believe you, man,” Lincoln said.  “You aren’t on the Island for two seconds, and you’ve got yourself a lady.  And a gorgeous, rich one at that.  Was it this easy for you in Seattle?”

 

Holder wondered how he should answer that question.  He took a long sip of his beer, using that as an excuse to stall, trying to come up with an answer. 

 

“What do you think?” He asked.  “All the ladies want a piece of this action,” he said, gesturing to his whole body.

 

Lincoln just rolled his eyes.

 

Holder’s phone vibrated a third time, and this time he was getting irritated.

 

“See?  Here’s another one that won’t quit calling,” he joked to Lincoln.  Then he answered the phone and asked “What?!” his tone of voice showing his annoyance.

 

He waited, but didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line.

 

“Hello?” he asked, confused. “Hello? Anybody there?”

 

Then he heard it.  Quiet sobbing and sniffling.

 

“Who is this?” he asked.  Lincoln raised an eyebrow, curious.  Holder shrugged at him.  Then he heard something that sounded like whispering.  Or, what whispering would sound like if you never actually made it to what you were trying to say.

 

Holder’s face went lax, panic taking an icy hold on his chest.  “Olivia?” he croaked.

 

Lincoln suddenly became alert, leaning forward, desperate to know what was happening.

 

“Olivia, are you okay?”  Holder asked, rising to his feet, although not confident his knees would hold.

 

Just then, a computerized voice came on the other end of the line.  It didn’t say any words, but rather, spelled one out:

 

H  -  E  -  L  -  P

 

Holder ran.  He bounded out the door and down the street to the bicycle parking rack where he’d left his bike.  He yelled into the phone, “I’m coming! I’m coming, Olivia, I’m coming!”

 

He reached his bike, and not knowing what else to do with the phone, he shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie.  He pulled on the handlebars, but it wouldn’t come loose.  Panting, he violently jerked at the bike, but the tire was stuck.  Suddenly, Lincoln was there, pushing a bike in front of Holder. “Take mine!” he said forcefully.  Holder didn’t ask questions.  He stood on the bike’s pedals, and took off.  He raced down Main Street, and when he turned up toward the hill, he saw Lincoln following a few yards behind.  Apparently he’d dislodged Holder’s bike and decided to come along for whatever terror awaited them.

 

Holder’s lungs burned, but he hardly felt it. He just kept pedaling towards West Bluff.  He had to get to her.  When the pair approached the security gate at full speed, Will burst out of the booth.  As they went off-road, and biked around the lowered arm of the gate, Lincoln shouted at him as best he could with the little breath he could muster, “HELP!”

 

They tore up the driveway and across the yard, discarded the bikes at the bottom of the steps and never stopping, pounded up the steps, and barged through the front door.  Everything was in total darkness.

 

Holder screamed, “OLIVIA!” between gulps of air.  He searched the kitchen while Lincoln found a panel of light switches, illuminating the first floor of the house.  Then Lincoln ran under the stairs into the living room.  Holder heard Lincoln shout, “Holder, in here!” and he burst into the living room, his eyes devouring the scene.

 

The large TV hung from the wall at an angle, its screen shattered, most likely by the floor lamp lying on the floor in front of it, bent in the middle and the shade shredded.  The large, sliding glass door leading to the back porch was just an empty frame, and broken glass littered the floor beneath.  Side tables overturned, their contents strewn about the floor.  A laptop computer lying open, and unharmed.  And Olivia, huddled on the floor by an armchair, hugging her knees and clinging to the phone in her hand so tightly her knuckles were white.  When he first saw her, her head was down, her forehead resting against her knees, like she was hiding, trying to look as small as possible.  But then she looked up, and their eyes met.  Holder stopped breathing.  The left side of her face was battered and bloody, her lip split, her eye swollen shut and turning yellow and purple.  Holder’s insides flashed with molten heat, and he wanted to strangle the life out of the man who’d done this.  He clenched his fists and his jaw, and Olivia’s eyes overflowed with tears.  Holder’s anger only grew when she began to sob violently.

 

Holder forced himself not to rush to her immediately.  She was obviously terrified, and probably in shock.  He slowly approached her, and bent to his knees to scoop her into his lap and hold her tightly.  She trembled, sobs wracking her body.  He began to shush softly, and gently pulled the telephone from her fingers. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. It’s okay,” he repeated softly, even though he had no reason to believe this himself.

 

Just then, the men heard footsteps bounding up the front steps.  Lincoln and Holder were on high alert until the figure appeared and they realized it was Will, who’d finally caught up on foot.  Will caught sight of Olivia, and Holder could see him go through the same experience he had upon seeing her.

 

“What the hell?” was all Will could manage to say.

 

Lincoln took charge of the situation and started barking orders.  “Will – you get the police here, now.”  Will grabbed the radio off his belt and hurried back outside to make the call.  “Holder – check her for injuries, like any broken bones.  I’ll find something to clean those cuts on her face.”  He took off on a hunt for a first aid kit.

 

Holder continued to hold Olivia tightly, not wanting to release her, but knowing he had to.  He stood, gently picking her up and depositing her on the couch, grabbing a blanket to wrap it around her shoulders.  Her cries had quieted, but her body still shook as she gasped in involuntary breaths.

 

Holder knelt in front of her and examined her limbs for injury.  When he found none, he began racking his brain for an explanation for all of this.  But all he found was a looming sense of guilt.  “Baby, I’m so sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.  I should have picked up the phone the first time, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

 

Olivia brought her hand up to meet Holder’s face in reassurance.  It struck him as odd.  She was the one who had just been attacked, and here she was comforting _him._  

 

Lincoln came back into the room with clean towels, rubbing alcohol, bandages, and a glass of water.  He put everything on the couch next to Olivia, except the glass of water, which he gave to her.  “Here, we don’t want you getting dehydrated,” he said, more like a doctor than a maintenance man.  Then he gave Holder one of the towels, which he’d dampened with warm water.

 

Holder took it and nodded his thanks.  “I’m sorry, B,” he said, “but this might hurt.”  He raised the towel to her face and gently began cleaning away the blood, so he could see the extent of the damage.  When he thought she might be able to handle it, Holder started asking her questions.

 

“Do you know who did this?” he began.

 

She shook her head.

 

“Could you see his face?”

 

She shook her head again.

 

Holder looked up at Lincoln, who was surveying the room, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

 

“He came in this door?” Lincoln asked, pointing to the broken sliding glass door.

 

Olivia nodded.

 

“Did he go into any other rooms?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“And did he take anything?”

 

Olivia looked around, trying to think, and trying to see if anything was missing.  Finally, she looked back up at Lincoln and shook her head.

 

Holder’s eyes found the laptop on the floor, pointed to it and asked, “Is this what you used to spell ‘help’ over the phone?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Those are pretty expensive,” Lincoln observed to Holder.  “If he was here to rob her, that would be one of the first things he’d take.”

 

Holder joined in, “So he wasn’t here to steal anything.”  He turned back to Olivia. “So he just came in…” he struggled to say the next words, “…beat you…and left?”

 

Olivia looked like she didn’t know how to answer, like it wasn’t quite a yes or a no.

 

“Did he say anything?” Lincoln asked.

 

She nodded a bit more forcefully this time.

 

“Lincoln – find some paper and a pen.”  Holder ordered.  Lincoln took off in search, just as Will reentered the room.

 

“They’re almost here,” Will said.  He looked jumpy, rocking from one foot to another, and wringing his hands together.  Suddenly, he blurted out, “I don’t know how this happened.  No one has gone up or down this road in at least four hours.  I’ve got the security footage to prove it.”

 

Holder nodded to him, and tried to reassure him. “We’ll figure this out, Eastwood.”

 

Just then, about 6 police officers came in the room, led by Lincoln.  Quick explanations were given by Holder and Will, while several officers took pictures of the scene.  Then they needed a statement from Olivia.

 

“You’ll need this,” Holder said, gesturing to the notebook in Lincoln’s hands.  Lincoln gave it to Olivia, with a nod and a small smile of encouragement.  Slowly, she filled several pages with her written statement.  An officer sat next to her, just close enough to read over her shoulder as she did.  He, too was writing, taking notes.  Occasionally, he would stop her to ask a question, and she would write an answer, show him, and continue.  Holder wondered what she could be filling those pages with.  He also knew he probably couldn’t handle that knowledge right now.  He had to be content with throwing her glances from across the room, where he was giving his own statement to another officer.

 

When everyone’s story had been told, and told again, the police gathered to discuss what the next steps would be.  Then, the leading officer addressed Olivia, Holder, Lincoln, and Will.

 

“We’re going to post guards inside and outside the home, around the clock, for the foreseeable future.”  He gestured to the officers who’d taken the pictures.  “Ma’am, these are officers Waters and McClan. They’ll take the first shift while we return back to base to get this investigation started.  You’ll be entirely safe.”

 

Olivia nodded, and let out a sigh of relief.

 

“In the meanwhile,” he continued, “you need to see a doctor.”  He phrased his next words carefully. “While no…examinations are necessary, I’ll be sending for a doctor to see to your injuries, and record them for our purposes.”

 

Holder held out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.  _No examinations necessary_ , he silently repeated to himself.  This was the best case scenario.  He’d been terrified that the attacker hadn’t stopped at just beating Olivia, but had done much worse…but he couldn’t think about that, and now he wouldn’t have to.

 

“Please try not to worry, Ma’am. We’re going to get this guy.  I promise.” 

 

But Holder knew all too well that was a promise no one could make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for you patience. I know this chapter is a huge, weird step away from how the chapters have been going lately, but I write them one at a time and this is where the story took me. I hope to get the next chapter up soon!


	10. Chapter 10

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Holder said, before grabbing Lincoln by the shoulder and pulling him in for a hug.

 

“Of course,” Lincoln replied, and clapped Holder on the back a few times, before releasing him and turning to Olivia.  “I’m just glad you’re alright, Miss B.”

 

The police officers had just left, except for those who were taking the first shift watching over the house.  Olivia had sufficiently calmed down, and was bundled on the couch with her glass of water.  After hearing her name, she turned to look at Lincoln, and managed a small smile in gratitude.

 

Lincoln continued, “I wish I could have met you under better circumstances, but it was still…” he trailed off, not really knowing how to finish his thought.

 

Olivia nodded, understanding him.

 

Lincoln turned back to Holder.  “I’m going to talk to John, and see what we can do about replacing those glass panel doors first thing tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.”

 

“Thanks, man.  Take care.”

 

Lincoln headed out the door and finally, all of Holder’s attention could be on Olivia.  He wanted to know what she needed, and what he could do to give it to her.  He sat on the couch beside her again, waiting for her to acknowledge him.  For a while, she sat very still, her breathing quiet and rhythmic.  Eventually she leaned forward to set her glass on a coffee table that Lincoln had had to retrieve from the opposite side of the room and turn right-side up again.  The notepad and pen were waiting there for her, and now she was ready to use them.  Holder waited impatiently.

 

_Please don’t leave._

 

Holder looked into her pleading eyes and said, “B, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Olivia was beyond relieved.  She couldn’t handle the pressure behind her eyes anymore.  It was taking all of her focus to keep from crying again.  She exhaled deeply, and let the tears come.  They poured down her face and landed in her lap in fat drops.  But she didn’t just need to cry.  She needed Holder.  She raised herself from her spot on the couch and leaned into his chest, coming to rest in his lap.  She folder herself as small as she could manage as his large arms enfolded her in the kind of embrace she desperately needed.

 

Somewhere inside, Holder began to ache.  He shut his eyes tight and rested his chin on Olivia’s head as he slowly rubbed her back with one hand and continued to hold her with the other.

 

Then, he heard himself speak.  “You don’t have to deal with this now.  I’ll take care of everything, and you don’t even have to think about it.  Not today, or tomorrow, or the day after that.  Unfortunately, some day you will have to face it, but I know you’ll be able to, because you’re strong.  You’re so strong, baby.  Hell, that day you threw me out of this house…you terrified me.  You are fierce, and brave, and fucking incredible.  You can overcome this.  But you don’t have to do it now.  Not yet.  I’m here.”

 

They stayed like that for a long while, until Holder realized Olivia had fallen asleep.  He was glad she could sleep, and escape this situation, at least for a few hours.  Slowly, he stood, carrying her, and made his way upstairs to her bedroom.  He removed the extra pillows, pulled back the covers, and gently lay her down before pulling them back up to cover her.  He studied her face, and the cuts and bruises that were now more evident with the blood having been cleaned away.  Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and turned to find a place to sit.  He found an overstuffed armchair and settled in for the night.  Even though he knew officers Waters and McClan were outside, he still felt the need for a clear line of sight to the bedroom door.  After a few minutes, his eyelids began to feel heavy, and soon he was fighting to stay awake.  But he failed, and unknowingly surrendered to the same blissful sleep.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Olivia’s head was fuzzy.  The sunlight was too bright, and she squinted against its assault on her eyes.  She was walking towards the water, but couldn’t feel the ground beneath her.  Usually it was like walking on eggshells, the small pebbles digging into the soles of her feet.  She reached the shoreline, and looked down to see the water wash over her feet and ankles, but still, she couldn’t feel it.  She knew this water well, and it should be ice cold.  Stranger than that, she looked back up to study the waves and realized that even though they crashed together in a tumult of white spray, they didn’t make a sound.  In fact, she couldn’t hear anything.  As hard as she listened, she could find no evidence this place was even real.  Then it came.

 

_Olivia._

 

She jolted, and looked around in search of the sound.  Everything else remained peaceful, except this lone voice.

 

_Olivia._

 

She felt someone take hold of her hand and all at once was roused from her sleep.  She awoke to find Holder perched on the edge of the bed, holding her hand in his, softly running his thumb over the surface.

 

“I’m sorry to wake you, I really am, but you’ve been out for a while and I think you should probably eat something.”

 

She reached to rub at her eyes, but was met with extreme protest.  Shooting, stinging pain.  She yanked her hand away in confusion, still trying to process Holder’s words.  She rolled towards the nightstand to get a glimpse of the clock, and saw the time was a little after 4:00.  She was trying to do the math while Holder chimed in.

 

“Almost 16 hours.”

 

She looked at him in disbelief.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Why was he asking this?  And what was he doing here in the first place?  It took a few moments, but then it all came back.  Had it been a dream?  No, definitely not.  Her blood ran cold and a shiver ran up and back down her spine.  She shut her eyes tight, again feeling the pain but ignoring it.  She clenched her teeth and shook her head back and forth until the fear subsided.  When she opened them again, Holder was still there, holding her hand, waiting patiently.

 

“I know,” he said, edging closer to her.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

Olivia took a deep breath, having sufficiently calmed herself, and propped herself up, letting go of Holder’s hand.  She reached above her head to stretch her aching limbs, and then rubbed the back of her neck to release some tension that remained from the night before. 

 

Holder continued to watch her.  She rubbed at her stomach, not quite knowing why it was aching, too. 

 

Holder caught on and asked, “You hungry?”

 

It made sense, since she’d slept the day away.  She gave him a small smile and nodded.  Seemingly pleased to finally have something to do, Holder grinned and jumped up from the bed.

 

“Good,” he chirped.  “In that case I’ll make you my special recipe.” 

 

He held his hand out to her, and she took it, rising from the bed, getting the chance to stretch her tired legs.  He led her down the stairs and towards the kitchen, but she paused and pulled back when she caught a glimpse of the living room through the doorway beneath the stairs.  It was spotless, like nothing out of the ordinary had even occurred.  The furniture was back in place, and all the glass had been picked up.  The only pieces of evidence of the night before were the blank space on the wall which the flat screen normally occupied, and the large piece of tarp taped into the door frame, replacing the glass panel.

 

Holder gently tugged at her arm, leading her into the kitchen once more.  A notepad and pen were waiting for her at the kitchen island.  She pulled herself up to sit on the counter and held the notepad in her lap while Holder opened a cabinet.  He retrieved a can of soup, and set about heating up its contents.  She began scribbling, and when Holder finished punching buttons on the microwave, he turned to find Olivia holding the notepad out to him.

 

_Chicken noodle soup, huh?_

_Super special recipe you  
got there._

 

“Don’t you get sassy with me, young lady,” Holder teased, leaning his arms on the counter on either side of her, “or I might just eat it myself and leave none for you.”

 

_You don’t eat meat, smartass._

 

One side of Holder’s mouth turned up in a wry grin. “It doesn’t count if you’re eating it just to prove a point.  That’s called justification.  Learn it.”

 

Olivia rolled her eyes and shoved Holder playfully in the chest.  He was too big to be moved by her, but he feigned injury, rubbing his chest and wincing in fake pain.

 

“Damn, B. One of these days you’re gonna kill me.”

 

Olivia giggled and smiled up at him, then grabbed the notepad once more.

 

_You promise you’ll stick  
around that long?_

Holder looked at her seriously then, and lowered his voice to reflect his intent.  He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Cross my heart.”

 

Olivia brought her hands up to rest at Holder’s sides, and looping her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, pulled his body close to hers until she could lean against him.  He wrapped his arms around her back, closing whatever space there was left between them.  She took deep breaths, breathing in his scent, closing her eyes and letting herself feel wholly protected and at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shady's back....back again. For how long, nobody knows.


End file.
